stories and such

This is not a voice recording concerning postmodernity. The pop star goes triple platinum yet cannot sing a note. She towers over the crowd from her pedastel with arms reaching towards the heavens. Her face is heavy with synthetic make-up so thick her pores cannot breathe sweat. The bare ass that sold so many records is scorched by the flashbulbs. She is black but rubs chemicals into her skin to appear more caucasian. She is white but bombards her flesh with radiation to appear more exotic. She is the American dream. The camera rolls. The victory of capitalism. The beat drops. This is success.